


Watch the World Burn

by blueraccoon



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Star Trek: Into Darkness Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueraccoon/pseuds/blueraccoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some men you just can't reason with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for STID! Written for this prompt on the kink meme:
> 
> Marcus destroys the Enterprise and only Kirk survives. He joins with Khan (whose crew was also destroyed) on a reckless mission of revenge. Khan doesn't manipulate Kirk, or have to talk him into anything because after what Marcus did (perhaps Kirk was in audio/visual contact with the ship as it was destroyed and had to hear his crew die?), he wants nothing but to see all of Starfleet burn.
> 
> Once he gets a taste for it, Kirk is every bit as ruthless and cruel as Khan, despite his "inferiority" and Khan becomes infatuated, hellbent on revenge and on bringing out this new side of Kirk.
> 
> I'm all for super-rough/violent sex and powerplay, but I would love the dynamic to be more fluid than just one domming the other, more of a mutual destruction/mutual fascination with violence thing.

The point isn’t to win. 

Jim doesn’t stand a chance against Khan’s enhanced senses, engineered strength and speed. He rushes him anyway, knocking him back a step and savagely pleased when he hears the grunt he knocks out of Khan. It doesn’t last long; Khan shoves him back, heel of his hand in Jim’s solar plexus followed by a leg hooked around his ankles, sending him crashing to the floor. Jim scrambles up and punches Khan in the ribs. 

Khan’s always eerily silent when they fight, and the few sounds Jim gets out of him are more like involuntarily inhales or exhales. Jim, on the other hand, roars and growls and shouts, throwing himself at Khan over and over, ducking punches Khan doesn’t pull and feeling his own fists slam into muscle that won’t hold a bruise for more than moments. 

As always, it ends too soon and too suddenly, with Jim’s breath knocked out of him and Khan pinning him down. Jim curses him, fights him, getting nowhere with his wrists held in Khan’s unbreakable grasp and Khan’s weight pressing him into the floor. He’s got just enough room to push back, not enough to get on his knees, and he shoves back against Khan, earning a low growl and Khan’s hands holding tighter--he’ll have bruises, circlets around his wrists, and Jim flashes teeth--not nearly a smile--at the thought.

“C’mon,” he says, out of breath and sore and body aching in a dozen places. “That the best you got?”

Khan laughs, low and predatory. “Not in the least... _Captain*._

They fuck like they fight, wild and out of control on Jim’s part, slightly more controlled and quieter on Khan’s. Slightly. Hard enough to hurt, not enough to make the pain disappear, teeth and nails leaving marks, drawing blood, marks that won’t last on Khan and ones that Jim wears like awards on his skin. Bite mark here, scratches there, and Jim’s going to be sore for _days_ \--if he heals before they do this again.

He never does. He doesn’t care. 

He doesn’t care about much these days, other than revenge, the need for that too all-consuming to let anything else break through. This, though--the fight, the fuck--this helps satiate the burn. Not for long, never for long. But for a bit.

When he comes, he screams; who the hell’s there to hear him? Khan snarls and bites his neck and yeah, that’ll bleed, might even scar if Jim doesn’t let Khan heal him. He might. He might not. 

They sprawl on the floor of the bridge, panting for breath, even Khan’s heartrate slightly faster than normal. These few, quiet moments, when Jim’s physically exhausted and Khan--might be pretending to be, but at least he pretends well--this makes Jim close his eyes and for a moment, just a moment, remember his crew. Scotty. Uhura. Sulu. Chekov. And...he breathes out slowly, giving himself a spare few seconds to remember Bones, and then Spock. His friends, his _family_ , destroyed by a madman hellbent on a war. 

He wonders if Khan does the same in these moments, if he remembers seventy-two people who will never wake from cryosleep, who burned with the Enterprise, bright and wild and too fast to save.

After a bit, he sits up, wincing in a few places, and Khan does as well, moving much more easily than Jim. “Come,” Khan says, rolling to his feet easily. “You will need healing before we may continue.”

Jim considers protesting, decides it’s not worth it. Khan won’t heal the marks Jim tells him not to heal, but he thinks he’s got a couple cracked ribs and a black eye. “Tell me again the plan for when we get to the base,” he says, even though he knows it by heart. He pushes to his feet with a hiss and a groan, and Khan’s there to steady him, carefully-not-too-tight grip on his upper arm. 

Khan smiles, and any sane person would shiver at the sight. Jim, though--Jim smiles back. “Why, Captain,” he says. “We’ll destroy them. One at a time.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khan's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't intended for there to be a part two and yet they wouldn't shut up. I don't know if there will be a part three. I'm hesitant to call this a WIP because I think it stands as is, but there still may be more.

When Jim screams in his sleep, Khan’s already awake. He rolls over on the not-quite-big-enough bed, his chest pressed against Jim’s back and a hand closed around his wrist. “Kirk,” he says in Jim’s ear. “Wake.”

Jim screams again and Khan shakes him, hard enough to jostle but not enough to hurt. Jim shudders and gulps in a breath and snaps “Lights, thirty percent.” The lights obligingly come on and Jim sits up, rubbing his hands over his face.

Khan doesn’t ask him if he’s all right. “Who was it this time?” he says instead, sitting up next to Jim.

“Bones,” Jim says, sucking in air and exhaling noisily--even without enhanced senses, he sounds like he’s just run a marathon. “And Scotty.” He takes a slower, quieter breath, exhales. “God, Khan, if I’d accepted his resignation, if I hadn’t made him take those damned torpedoes, we all might...”

“Why do you insist on doing this to yourself?” Khan asks. “You are not to blame for what happened to your crew.” 

“I’m--I _was_ \--the captain,” Jim says, drawing his knees up, arms draped over them. “It’s all my responsibility.” 

“The fault lies with Marcus,” Khan says. And with himself, perhaps, but Khan does not allow himself to dwell on regrets and what-ifs. What is matters more, and what is right now is the two of them and this ship, hellbent on a mission of revenge Khan honestly doesn’t know if they’ll finish carrying out. But he doesn’t know if he cares, either. He doesn’t fear death; when one has nothing left to live for, death becomes not a thing to be feared but a respite to be welcomed, when it arrives. 

But that’s not entirely true, either. He may not have his crew, his _family_ , but...there is Kirk. Jim, although Khan rarely uses his given name. Jim, who is not genetically superior but is every bit as ruthless, as destructive as Khan can be. Oddly attractive--or perhaps not so odd, that they would find this in each other. 

Jim hears what Khan doesn’t say and sighs, turning his head to look at him. “I should hate you,” he says.

“Don’t you, Kirk?” Khan asks, deliberately antagonizing him. “ _Captain_? You could go back. You could claim I forced you into this, that you were a helpless hostage. Send the fleet--what remains of it--after me, retake your place as the golden captain?”

Jim’s eyes flash and he moves, straddling Khan and hands around his throat. “i’m not helpless,” he says. “And I’m nobody’s hostage.” 

Khan laughs at him. “Then prove it.”

They rarely kiss, but Jim slams his mouth down on Khan’s, tightening his grip around Khan’s throat. Khan could break it in an instant and doesn’t, just like he doesn’t flip them over when Jim shoves him back against the bed. Not that he’s passive--Khan is rarely, if ever passive--but they both know he could win this, and they both know he won’t try. 

The bruises on his throat won’t last long; the pain from too hard a fuck and not enough lube might last a bit longer. It doesn’t matter. Khan bites Jim’s earlobe and Jim slams into him, both of them panting harshly and Jim growling low in his throat. When Khan comes, it rips through him and he sinks his teeth into Jim’s shoulder rather than cry out; Jim makes enough noise for both of them. 

“Captain,” Khan says after, and Jim punches him in the ribs. Khan laughs again. “Kirk. Why _don’t_ you go back? Turn me in, send the fleet after me?”

“The only parts of Starfleet I cared about burned,” Jim says. “ _You_ killed the the first one, and Marcus the rest. Should I blame this on you? Would you rather I turned on you?”

“Sometimes I wonder if you already have,” Khan says, running a hand down Jim’s side. 

“Not until they burn,” Jim says evenly. “Not until it all burns.” 

“We may die before that happens,” Khan says because it’s only the truth.

“Then we’ll take as many of them as we can with us,” Jim says. 

“You could have been one of us, in another life,” Khan says. 

Jim punches him again. “Don’t fucking insult me.” 

“Is a weapon to blame for the way in which it was made? For being used?” Khan asks. “I am what I was made to be.” 

“Don’t get philisophical on me, either,” Jim says, but Khan grabs his hand before the punch can connect. 

“I am what I was made for, Kirk,” Khan says. “And so are you.” 

“Am I?” Kirk rolls onto his back. 

“What else would you be?” Khan asks.

“The only genius repeat offender in Iowa,” Kirk says, under his breath. 

Khan doesn’t ask. “Do you require healing?”

“No,” Kirk says, touching the mark on his shoulder, the barely-healed one on his throat. “I want the scars.” He studies Khan for a moment. “ _Can_ you scar?”

“It is...unlikely,” Khan says. If what Marcus did to him didn’t leave scars, odds are nothing will. 

“How do you--” Kirk’s mouth twists. “Marcus. What did he do to you?”

“Do you honestly want to know?” Khan counters. “The man is dead. He cannot pay any more.”

“No, but we’re making the rest of Starfleet burn for what he did,” Jim says. “What’s more fuel on the fire?”

He has a point. Khan sighs and leans back against the wall. “It started when I was revived,” he says. 

It wasn’t solely Marcus. There were “doctors”, and “technicians”, and...Khan does not let his expression waver in the retelling. Jim, however, frowns and scowls and snarls, and when Khan finishes, Jim moves to straddle him again, hands on his shoulders this time. “We’ll make them pay,” he whispers, eyes burning into Khan’s. “Every one of them.”

“I have no doubt,” Khan murmurs back, hands on Jim’s hips. “Many of them died when Section 31 exploded.”

“Then we’ll find the rest,” Jim says. “And we’ll take our time.”

Khan laughs, pleased. “Indeed.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Destruction or salvation?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not know if there will be more. I didn't intend to write the second and third chapters. As with the first two, I think this stands alone although it fits well.

They look around the bridge; crew lying everywhere, stunned or dead, and if not dead they will be soon. Jim grins savagely and stalks toward Khan, turned on as hell and not bothering to hide it. Who’s going to stop them? Who’s going to care if they fuck in the captain’s chair? 

“Later,” Khan murmurs, but the hunger in his eyes matches Jim’s, and he wastes no time in spinning and shooting a stunned crewmember struggling toward consciousness. 

“No,” Jim says, and he aims his phaser at Khan. “Now.”

“Will you shoot me, _Captain_?” Khan asks, amused, still keeping an eye out for the three--turn, fire, two--crew members still alive. “Right here, right now?”

“Will it kill you?” Kirk asks, not lowering his weapon.

Khan smiles. “No.”

Kirk shoots him.

He wakes up from the shot in time to flip Jim over, shoving a knee between his legs and pinning his wrists. “If you think I’m going to let you top after you just shot me, you clearly _are_ an inferior being,” he murmurs in Jim’s ear. 

“Then fuck me,” Jim says, clearly not caring. “Here. Now. On the bridge.” 

“So primitive,” Khan teases. “So...crude.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get with us inferior beings,” Jim says, leaning up to bite Khan’s lip. “Crudeness and vulgarity.” 

“Is anyone left alive?” Khan asks. 

Jim grins. “No.”

Khan listens for a moment anyway, half closing his eyes to focus his hearing. He doesn’t catch any breathing patterns, nor does he hear movement. Good enough--and he and Jim can easily take care of anyone they might have missed. 

Not that he doubts Jim. Kirk has proven to be very...thorough. 

He leaves more marks on Jim, bites and bruises, and thinks he’ll have to heal some of them or Jim won’t have any unmarked skin left. Jim doesn’t seem to care, but Khan would like to have new skin to play with once in a while. 

As if he already knows what Khan is thinking, Jim doesn’t argue when Khan drags him into the infirmary to run the dermal regenerator over his torso. “No,” he says once, only once, when Khan touches the healing mark on his throat. “That one stays.” 

“Why?” Khan asks. “Insurance in case you turn on me? Proof I forced you into this insanity?”

Jim scowls at him. “Everything leaves scars,” he says. “Yours aren’t visible, doesn’t mean they aren’t there. I want a visible reminder.” 

It could also be the reason Khan suggested--although he doubts it--but he nods, accepting Jim’s response. 

“Besides,” Jim says, pulling his shirt back on. “It turns you on.” 

Khan laughs, surprised. “And you care about that?” he asks.

“If all we’ve got is each other and revenge, then we better damn well make it worth it,” Jim says, hopping off the biobed. “I know you want me. I know you think of me as belonging to you. You got me into this and I went along with it with my eyes wide open, and I am _not_ running back to fucking Starfleet so stop treating me like I’m going to turn on you. If you want to think of me as yours, I don’t give a fuck, I might as well be _someone’s_ and you’re all I’ve got left. But I’m all you’ve got, too, and I don’t think you want to get rid of me.” 

“No,” Khan murmurs. “No, I do not.” 

“I’m not going to turn on you,” Jim says, hands on Khan’s shoulders, leaning up a little to look him in the eye. “I’ll fight you and I’ll fuck you and I might shoot you once in a while if circumstances are right, but if I go down, you’re coming with me, and if you go down, I’m already gone. Do you want it in blood?” 

Khan considers it for a moment. “Yes.”

Jim finds a scalpel--old, metal, old enough to have been used when Khan was originally alive--and nicks his wrist before offering it to Khan. “Well?” he asks.

Khan wraps long fingers around Jim’s arm and pulls his wrist to his mouth, licking the blood away, pressing over the small cut with his tongue until it stops bleeding. “Give me yours,” Jim says, holding out his hand for Khan’s wrist.

“The scar won’t last,” Khan says, pushing up his sleeve.

“I don’t care.” JIm cuts him--deeper than he did himself, Khan notes with amusement--and raises Khan’s wrist to his lips, tasting his blood. Khan can feel the mark heal, but Jim doesn’t let go until nothing’s left but smooth, unbroken skin. “You taste human enough,” he says, letting go.

“Human enough,” Khan says, considering it. “For what?”

“Revenge,” Jim says simply.

Khan smiles and takes Jim’s wrist, tugging him in closer. Jim leans up and Khan leans down and it’s their first kiss that doesn’t taste of blood and anger, the first one that might have some element of gentleness to it. 

“Come on,” Jim says, stepping back. “We’ve got parts to scavenge. No matter how well you designed the Vengeance we’ll need spare phasers and spare engineering bits at some point, we might as well strip this ship bare while we’re here.”

“I do like the way you think, Kirk,” Khan says, following him out of the infirmary.

Jim turns to look at him. “Call me Jim.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're in this together, like it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um. They keep talking. And doing other things. And this may be developing more of a plot than I wanted.

Four ships, two bases, and Starfleet’s running scared, not knowing where the next attack will come from, what form it will take. No one seems to have caught on to the Vengeance yet--they know that can’t last long, eventually someone will get a message out before they die--but for now, they have freedom in appearing to be a Starfleet ship, having access to Starfleet communications. They hear the news, know Starfleet’s pulling back, ships being sent to guard HQ and non-essential personnel evacuated from bases farther out. 

“We may,” Khan says, “want to consider recruiting. If the true story about your ship’s destruction were to emerge...”

“If the true story about what Marcus did to you were to get out,” Jim says grimly. “You think it’s worth trying?” 

Khan shrugs. “Most things are worth trying once. If we succeed, we may have further success. If we do not, we kill them and move on.” 

“Here’s the thing,” Jim says. They sprawl in bed, the ship humming along at warp for another twelve hours before she reaches her destination--another Starbase, one just far out enough that it hasn’t got much in the way of protections. “Do you have physical proof of what Marcus did? You can’t scar, and words alone...”

“There were recordings,” Khan says flatly. “I copied them before Section 31 burned.” 

“Where are they now?” Jim asks.

Khan rolls out of bed and picks up his boots, twisting off the left heel of one. He takes out a slim knife and a memory chip and puts the knife back before reattaching the heel. “Here.”

“Fucking brilliant,” Jim says, smiling. “And we’ve got the recordings of him destroying my--our people.” 

“Do you think it will work, Jim?” Khan asks.

“I think if you can turn me into a slightly inferior version of you--” Jim’s clearly teasing. “--then yes. We can turn Starfleet against itself. They don’t know why we picked the ships we did. We can tell them anything, maybe they had black ops personnel on them, maybe they were part of Marcus’s gang. I think it’s a brilliant idea.” 

Khan puts the chip back in his boot for safekeeping. He has copies, of course, and Jim is too intelligent to think he doesn’t, but he prefers to keep _that_ version close. When he comes back to bed, Jim takes his wrist, thumb rubbing over skin that doesn’t have a scar. “I want something from you,” he says, and for the first time since this began Jim sounds...uncertain. 

“Tell me,” Khan says. 

“This,” Jim says, squeezing Khan’s wrist. “Your hand. In me.” 

Khan rarely admits to surprise but this time he has to blink and take a moment to consider. “I could...Jim, I could hurt you,” he says finally. “Not like normal. I could...”

“But will you?” Jim asks. “Because I think you won’t. I think you’ll hurt me when we’re fighting and you’ll leave me sore and bruised and bleeding when we fuck and with this, this one thing, you won’t dare hurt me because you know just how much you could.” 

“I think you trust me too much,” Khan says evenly, and Jim laughs at him.

“You need me as much as I need you,” Jim tells him. “We’re in this together, Khan, like it or not, and you won’t dare hurt me beyond what I can handle because you can’t stand the thought I might turn on you.”

“And you won’t dare turn on me because where else are you going to go?” Khan counters, moving to pin Jim down against the bed, hands around his wrists--a familiar pose for both of them, yet no less arousing for all that.

“Exactly,” Jim murmurs, pulling at Khan’s hold just to feel it tighten. “So shut up and give me your hand.”

Khan kisses him, biting at his lips and hearing Jim growl against his mouth. “Will you hold still or do I have to restrain you?” he asks. 

“Oh, tie me up,” Jim says, grinning. “I’m all for that.”

Khan can’t help it; he laughs. “I never would have guessed,” he says dryly, going to find the rope they used last time. He binds Jim’s wrists to the bed, leaves his feet free, and strips him of the loose pants he was wearing. Jim’s already hard, and Khan nudges his legs further apart with a knee. 

Jim watches him until he can’t, until his eyes fall closed involuntarily and he’s groaning every time Khan twists his wrist or his fingers or even tenses his arm. Khan, for his part, finds it fascinating to watch Jim, color in his face spreading down his chest, body so slowly opening for him, being so careful until Jim just--breaks. 

He breaks, begging in a voice gone raw, saying “Please” and “More”, Khan’s name, cursing him when Khan doesn’t give him what he wants right away, struggling against the rope hard enough his wrists bleed. Completely broken, completely _Khan’s_ , and Khan growls through his teeth.

“Jim,” he says, all he says, and Jim screams when he comes, tears on his face, sobbing for breath and body still pulsing. 

Khan waits until Jim’s gone limp against the bed, not entirely certain he’s conscious, before he eases his hand back out of Jim’s body and goes to wash up. He comes back and unties Jim, bringing his arms down next to his body. As he expected, some of the welts are bleeding, and he picks up JIm’s hand, licking the blood clean from his skin. 

“Now who’s primitive?” Jim mumbles, blinking blurry eyes open to look at him. 

“Would you rather have the blood dry on your skin?” Khan asks mildly. Jim has a point, but then again, primitive has its place. Mankind may have gone to the stars, but baser instincts still rule when allowed. Khan has only to look at Marcus for that truth--and, to be honest, at himself. He should never have allowed himself to talk Jm into bed, but he does not regret it and will not allow himself to step back now. As Jim said--they’re in this together. And to be honest, Khan doesn’t know whether he seduced Jim or Jim offered first. 

Jim manages a shrug. “Don’ care. Did you get off?”

“Unnecessary,” Khan says, putting Jim’s hand back down.

“Fuck it’s not,” Jm says, rolling onto his stomach and handing Khan his other wrist. Amused and also pleased, Khan takes his time licking the welts, cleaning every drop of blood clean from Jim’s skin. Jim shivers, eyes steady on him for all that he seems mostly asleep, and he does not pull his hand back until Khan sets it down.

“You are hardly conscious enough to do anything about it,” Khan tells him. “We will be at the starbase in ten hours. You should rest.”

“Gimme an hour,” Jim says, closing his eyes. “Or you could just come on me.”

Khan pauses, considers that idea for a second. “Rest, Jim,” he decides, probably the better course of action.

“Is that a no?” Jim pouts, a surprisingly endearing expression. “You know you want to. You love seeing me covered in your marks. Bruises, welts, bites, you’d cut me if I asked. So come on me. Mess me up.”

“Would you want me to cut you?” Khan asks.

Jim stretches and rolls onto his back. “I kept the scalpel,” he says. “Thought we could use it sometime. You can’t scar but that doesn’t mean you don’t bleed.” 

“I have knives,” Khan comments.

“Next time,” Jim says and Khan does _not_ reveal how much that interests him. “For now, just...come on me.” He stretches again and shifts to his knees. “Or do I have to help you?” His hands, still welted and raw in spots, slide into Khan’s pants, and Khan growls softly and pushes Jim back on the bed.

He does come all over Jim, his chest and stomach, and for a moment finds it mildly disturbing how much both of them enjoyed that. Only for a moment. It is possible, he thinks, that his pact with Jim is leading them both down darker roads than either dared travel alone--and Khan does not fear the dark. 

While Jim sleeps, Khan cleans them both up, heals Jim’s wrists and makes two more copies of the memory chip, stashing one in the seam of Jim’s pants. He may tell Jim about it later. 

Eventually, he settles back into bed next to Jim, unsurprised when Jim sighs and rolls over to fit against him. Jim sleeps better when Khan is there, they have learned, and although Khan requires much less sleep than Jim he finds himself spending time in their bunk. It keeps Jim--mostly--from the nightmares, and Khan has no particular desire to have Jim scream himself awake every night. 

He closes his eyes against the darkness of the room and drapes an arm over Jim’s waist. Eight hours until they arrive at the starbase; they will need to be awake in six. He doesn’t bother setting an alarm.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he hurt you.

“There’s a flaw in our plan,” Jim says, startling Khan.

“What did we miss?” he asks, looking up from the PADD in his lap. 

Jim moves the PADD out of the way and straddles his lap. “Before we show anyone even some of the recordings of what Marcus did to you, I want to see them.” 

Khan is less surprised now. “Ah.” He considers his words carefully. “There are...weeks of them, Jim. I have edited some down to a few hours’ worth, and then a shorter version, but to show you the entire series would take days. Weeks.”

“Then we’ll go underground,” Jim says. “Find somewhere to park this ship and hide while I watch, maybe come out to hit a ship or two. The longer we wait, the longer they’ll think we’ve disappeared. No one’s looking for us.”

“Why is this so important to you?” Khan asks. 

“Because he _hurt_ you,” Jim says, fiercely. “Because if the world’s going to burn, I want to know exactly what set you on the path to Hell.” 

“You cannot kill him again,” Khan points out, wondering when _he_ became the reasonable one. 

“No. But I can make everyone else pay. I think we should start looking for those doctors and technicians who...used you.” Jim’s eyes have never seemed so bright, Khan thinks, and he can’t tell if it’s anger or hunger he sees in them. “How many died in Section 31? I know you know.”

“There were seventeen in total,” Khan says. “Eleven died in the explosion.” 

“So, six. We can find six doctors and technicians. Do you already know where they are?”

“Three shipped out on the Wells,” Khan says. “Two were reassigned, location classified, but I believe they are at Starbase Four. One is in San Francisco.” 

“Where is the Wells now?” Jim asks.

“En route to Starbase Eleven,” Khan says. “We can intercept but it will take us away from our current destination.”

“Yes, but there’s nothing we actually _care_ about there,” Jim says. “We want these six. We want to keep them alive long enough so they understand the part they played. How are you at playing pretend?” 

Khan raises an eyebrow. “I am sure we can manage something.” 

“We have shuttles on this ship,” Jim says. “We don’t need to take the Vengeance. Everyone thinks we died--hardly anyone knows who you are and I died with the Enterprise. What if we got away on Qo’nos, in a shuttle, we’ve been hiding out since then not knowing who we can trust? We find the Wells, get the three we want, take them back?” 

“How do we convince the Wells to let us go with their crew?” Khan asks. 

Jim grins. “I’m sure we’ll think of something. It’s not a big ship, not nearly as big as the ones we’ve taken down.” 

“Yes, but we will only have a shuttle, not the Vengeance,” Khan points out. 

“Then we’ll have to get creative,” Jim whispers right before he kisses Khan. 

They take the ship to an airless planetoid no one has any use for and hide in its asteroid field, surprisingly easy for a ship their size. Then, and only after they have settled into orbit and confirmed no one is watching them, Khan gives Jim the PADD and memory chip and leaves him to it.

“No,” Jim says as Khan is about to leave the room. “Stay.”

“Jim, I do not need to remember what happened,” Khan says, as mildly as he can. “I was there.”

“ _I_ need you here while I watch what happened,” Jim says. “I don’t need you to watch it. I need you to be here so I know you’re not _there_.”

Open expression of need, not something Khan is used to, but he can adapt. “All right,” he says. “Then let us do this on the bridge.” 

Neither of them takes the captain’s chair; Jim sprawls out on the floor and Khan takes another seat, looking at his own PADD. But he finds himself unable to concentrate, and his memory replays the scenes in real-time as he knows Jim is watching them. He does not know which was worse, to be honest: the mental traps, the knowledge Marcus had his crew and would kill them at the slightest hint of attitude from Khan--John--or the physical “tests”, the marks that didn’t last, the broken bones and cuts and blows and burns. He remembers full well their annoyance with his lack of reaction, but what were they to him? What could they do but kill him, and without his family, what was he? A cipher, a man from nowhere, superior in every way but trapped like a bear, forced to perform for Marcus’ amusement? 

He pushes up from his seat, crossing to the bridge controls even though he knows he does not need to check them. All systems nominal, everything functioning as it should be, and the urge to smash them rises until his vision tinges with red and his teeth grit together. It passes, as he knows it will; rage is something to be controlled, used when necessary but not something he can let use _him_. 

Jim lies motionless on the floor, watching--ah. Khan glances over his shoulder and sees they’ve moved on to the mental questions; tests and tricks a child could understand, and for some reason they thought he would play along. He admits a bit of surprise; he thought Jim would skip this section, but Jim does not move and Khan looks away. 

It takes six hours before Jim throws the PADD away and shoves to his feet with a snarl. “They treated you like a dog,” he says, finding Khan where he leans against a wall. “A lab rat.” 

“I was a lab rat, Jim,” Khan says evenly. 

“No,” Jim says. “You were never theirs. I can see that, even from what I just watched. They didn’t break you. Tell me they didn’t break you.”

“They thought they did,” Khan says after a moment. “And there were times...I wondered, Jim. There were times I wondered if all I was was John Harrison.” 

This time, Jim’s hands close around Khan’s wrists and the rage he sees on Jim’s face makes him smile. “You are so much more,” Jim says softly. “So much more, Khan.” 

“Are you certain you want to see the rest of it?” Khan asks, not pulling away from Jim’s hold.

“No,” Jim says. “Does it get worse?”

“Both worse and better,” Khan says. 

“Tell me one thing,” Jim says after a pause. 

“What do you wish to know?”

Jim looks up at him. “Did they rape you?”

“No,” Khan says. “ _That_ I would not have permitted. Physical pain is one thing. That...is another.”

“But they didn’t try?” Jim asks.

“No.” Khan raises his eyebrows. “Why does it matter?”

“Because that’s the one place I don’t want to go and I was afraid if they had--” Jim shakes his head. “I’ll do anything you want, Khan, but not that.”

“I would never ask,” Khan says quietly. Savagery he has; crude brutality he does not. Although, he has to admit it _is_ an effective way to break someone. He hopes they will never need to cross that line, and is not sure how they would handle it if they do.

“I know.” Jim leans up and kisses him. “You claim to be a savage warrior but you have your own code.”

“I kill people in cold blood, Jim,” Khan points out.

“So do I.” Jim kisses him again, pulling him down to the floor, and Khan goes willingly. 

They lie on the floor after, naked and not caring, Khan curled around Jim’s smaller form and Jim as relaxed as he ever gets, eyes closed. “How long do we have before we have to leave to intercept the Wells?” Jim mumurs. 

“Six hours,” Khan says. “Are you sure you wish to do this? It may not end well.”

“Are you worried?” Jim asks with a snort. 

“Two of us, one shuttle, against a starship?” Khan shrugs. “I am pointing out the odds.”

“Don’t,” Jim says suddenly. “Don’t do that. You sound like--just don’t. It’ll be fine. We’ve got you and me, we’ve studied the schematics of the ship, we know its crew complement. We’ll have weapons they won’t be expecting and if we knock out their comms first, they won’t be able to signal for help until long after we’re away with those three.” 

“No plan survives the first contact with the enemy,” Khan says quietly.

“Ours will,” Jim says. “So will we.” 

“Death is not what worries me,” Khan says. Imprisonment, being separated from Jim--that would be worse than death. 

“I told you,” Jim says, turning over to face him. “If you go down, I’m already gone, and if I go down, you’re going down with me. I’ll kill you myself if I have to.” 

“Unless I kill you first,” Khan says. 

“I’m not afraid of death,” Jim says, smiling. “When we go down, I’ll kill you if you haven’t killed me yet.” 

“That,” Khan murmurs, “is a promise, Jim.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best laid plans...sometimes work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specifically for this chapter - warnings for bloodplay and knifeplay. But if you've been reading this, are you really surprised?

They survive. More than that, they plant the first few seeds of dissent, a few carefully edited recordings--and some not so edited. The crew of the Wells doesn’t know whether to kill them or trust them, but with their comms knocked out they can’t call for help. The captain is visibly horrified by what they show him, and the rest of the crew all but shoves two doctors and one technician into their shuttle. Maybe they think if they give Khan and Kirk what they want, they’ll just go away and leave them alone. Maybe they just want to survive. So many maybes, and Khan slips a tracker into their systems when no one is looking--too intent on edited recordings of torture, of unedited broadcast of a Starfleet Admiral destroying a Starfleet ship.

“Their comms will be back online soon enough,” Khan comments to Jim once they have their prisoners secured in the brig. “We should see what they have to say.”

“Absolutely,” Jim says, all but bouncing on his toes. “God, that was good, and we only had to kill three people.”

“Would you have cared were it more?” Khan asks.

JIm laughs and shakes his head. “Fuck no.” 

Khan shakes his head, but he smiles. “So destructive,” he says. 

“And you fucking love it,” Jim says, taking a step closer to him. “Don’t even try to tell me you don’t.” 

“What would Starfleet think if they saw you now, _Captain_?” Khan asks, goading him because. “A ruthless killer, eager to break all the codes you swore to uphold?”

Jim’s fist slams into his jaw and Khan laughs. “Don’t call me that,” Jim hisses, fists balled at his sides. “That was another person, another life.”

“Was it?” Khan blocks the next punch. “Are you sure there is not part of you that survives?”

“Fuck. You.” Jim launches himself at Khan and Khan smiles, eager for the fight and not pulling his own blows. They end up grappling on the floor, foreplay more than fighting, and Khan tastes blood when they kiss, not sure whether it is his or Jim’s. 

He lets Jim fuck him this time, sinking teeth and nails into his skin, Jim growling into the crook of his neck and the floor smooth against Khan’s back. Khan whispers “Captain” in his ear and Jim snarls and slams his head against the floor, out of control and both of them relishing it. Jim’s hands close around Khan’s throat and while Khan does not need oxygen to survive, the deprivation leaves him light-headed, until he comes in a rush and Jim doesn’t let go until his own orgasm rips through him. Khan coughs, not bothering to touch his throat, knowing it will heal soon enough. 

“Did I hurt you?” Jim asks later, when they lie on the floor, bodies brushing along their length.

“No more than I you,” Khan says, his voice still a bit rough but he can already feel the swelling beginning to recede. 

“So I did,” Jim says. “I didn’t know I could.”

“It will heal,” Khan says.

“I know.” Jim turns his head to look at him. “Do you care?”

“No,” Khan says. “You cannot injure me beyond what I can heal from.” 

“Then how am I supposed to kill you?” Jim asks. “If it comes to that.”

“Sever the spinal cord,” Khan says. “Cut my throat and sever the cord.” 

“I’ll need a sharp knife,” Jim says.

“I can give you one,” Khan tells him. “A phaser bolt directly to the temple _might_ also do it, or at least would render me unconscious for long enough you could kill me.”

Jim laughs. “God, we’re fucked up. You’re telling me how to kill you and it sounds like a declaration of love.” 

“Is it?” Khan asks, rolling onto his side to look at Jim. 

“You tell me,” Jim counters, mirroring his pose. 

“No,” Khan says.

“No you won’t tell me or no it isn’t?” Jim asks.

Khan just smiles. “Is love for men such as us?” he asks.

Jim punches him. “I hate it when you get philosophical.”

“Yes, I know,” Khan says. “You are a man of action, not introspection.” 

“Wouldn’t you rather be doing something than talking about it?” Jim asks.

“That depends on what the something is,” Khan says. “For example, with our three...guests...I would prefer to talk about precisely what we will do with them before we begin.”

“Yeah, but that’s not philosophy,” Jim says. “That’s planning.” 

“Have you begun planning?” Khan asks. “Tell me what you think.”

Jim smiles, and the banked rage in it matches Khan’s. “We’re going to hurt them,” he says softly. “Just like they hurt you.” 

“I recovered,” Khan feels the need to point out, playing devil’s advocate for the hell of it. “They will not.”

“If we heal them, they will,” Jim says. “I want to _break_ them, Khan. Break them and send them back to Starfleet as an example of what we can do, what we _will_ do. Or break them and kill them, I haven’t decided yet.”

“Perhaps some of each,” Khan says. “We do have more than one, and we will have more than three.” 

“Exactly.” Jim laughs. “One at a time, I think. In front of the others.” 

“Sadistic,” Khan murmurs. “I like it.” 

“You would,” Jim says, punching him lightly. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m learning from you or if you’re learning from me.” 

“I am the superior being,” Khan points out just to goad Jim, and blocks the punch before it can connect. 

“You’re also three hundred years older, we’ve had chances to learn a few things since then,” Jim says, looking at Khan’s hand around his wrist. 

“And you think I did not study after I was revived? Did not learn from what was done to me?” Khan asks. 

“Well, then,” Jim says. “You’ll have to show me what you learned.”

“Indeed,” Khan says, smiling. He pulls Jim closer to him, biting his earlobe. “Perhaps we shall begin now.” 

“Wait,” Jim says, covering Khan’s lips with his fingers. “Before you get started--wait, one sec.” He pulls away, and intrigued, Khan lets him go. Jim scrambles over to his pants and opens the slit in the side seam, pulling out the scalpel. 

“Am I to use this on you or you on me?” Khan asks, sitting up as Jim comes back over with the scalpel. 

“Either,” Jim says. “Both. Which would you rather?” 

Khan considers. “I think you should wield it.” 

“Masochist,” Jim teases, and Khan laughs. 

“No more than you, _Captain_.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Jim says automatically, but he doesn’t lash out with a punch. “Lie back. I want to see all of you when I do this.” 

Khan smiles and stretches out on the floor. Jim straddles his hips, scalpel held in his hand, eyes intent. “Fucking beautiful,” Jim whispers, just before he cuts the first line in Khan’s chest. 

Jim takes his time, and some of the wounds have already healed by the time he finishes. Khan lets him lick the ones that haven’t, tracing red lines on pale skin, cleaning up the blood. It stings, a small pain, and he closes his eyes, savoring it. When Jim kisses him, Khan tastes his own blood, an interesting flavor to be sure. Even his senses can’t taste the difference between his own blood and Jim’s, although he knows it’s there. 

“Cut me just before we go to work on them,” Jim says, lying on top of Khan. “Mark me up. Let them think I’m your prisoner, that you’re in charge here. It’ll make it all the better when I start.” 

“Oh, I think I can manage that,” Khan says, running fingertips up and down Jim’s spine. With no warning, he flips them over, pinning Jim down. “Who is to say it’s not the truth?”

Jim laughs. “I’m not your fucking hostage.” 

“Stockholm syndrome,” Khan says, biting Jim’s jaw. “Clearly you are terrified and playing along for survival.”

“Think I can pull it off?” Jim asks.

“It will be interesting to see you try,” Khan says. 

“That’s no kind of answer,” Jim says, scowling at Khan. 

“I think it is possible,” Khan says. “Likely, even, but only for so long. You will not wish to remind yourself of who you used to be.” 

“I hate it when you’re logical,” Jim says with a sigh. “You sound like...”

The Vulcan. Khan does not comment. “If this is how you wish to proceed, it is what we will do,” he says. 

“It is.” Jim leans up and kisses him hard. “But I want you to fuck me first, make a mess out of me.” 

“Oh, my dear Jim,” Khan murmurs. “I already have.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell me about your crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter: Warnings for (mostly off-screen) torture.

They take six hours with the first doctor, and Jim plays his part beautifully, going from struggling prisoner to sadistic torturer without batting an eye. The doctor pleads with them, tries to reason with them, sobs and begs and _breaks_ and they throw him back in his cell, naked and healed just enough. 

“Tell me, _doctor_ ,” Khan says, standing in front of the cell. “Had I begged like you, would it have stopped for me?” 

“We--we--” The doctor gulps, curled in a fetal ball on the floor. “We had orders. We had to--”

“You swore an _oath_ ,” Jim snarls. “Primum non nocere. First, do no harm. What did you think you were _doing_?”

Khan smiles at Jim’s Latin--his accent is atrocious, but it will do. “But he recovered!” the doctor wails. “We didn’t--”

“Do you think I don’t feel pain, doctor?” Khan asks coolly. “Do you think it did not _hurt_?” 

The doctor squeezes his eyes shut and curls up tighter. “He’s useless,” Jim says in disgust. “We should kill him now.” 

“Please,” the other doctor says. “Please. Don’t kill him. We didn’t--we didn’t mean--we had orders--just please, God, let us go.”

Khan ignores her. “It would be good for you to gain practice,” he says, not specifying in what. He keeps his voice low enough that the other doctor and technician can’t hear him. 

“In case I need to use it on you,” Jim murmurs back, understanding instantly. “Yes. You’re right. But not right now.” 

“No,” Khan agrees. “Later. For now, I think we have accomplished our goals for the moment.” 

Jim doublechecks the brig controls as they leave, and he shoves Khan against the wall as soon as they leave, crashing their mouths together and grinding his erection against Khan’s. “That was...fuck, so good,” he whispers, shoving his hands down Khan’s pants. “Let me suck you off.”

“Far be it from me to stop you,” Khan says, leaning back against the wall and spreading his legs for Jim to fit between them. 

“How altruistic of you,” Jim says with a smirk, sinking easily to his knees. “Be nice or I’ll bite.”

“I am rarely _nice_ , Captain,” Khan points out, threading his fingers through Jim’s hair and pulling. “And you won’t bite me.”

“Why not?” JIm asks, pulling Khan’s pants out of the way. 

“Because I’ll choke you,” Khan says.

Jim laughs. “Good enough.” 

He doesn’t bite, and Khan doesn’t choke him--much, hardly at all--and Khan is still taking deeper breaths than normal when Jim shoves his own pants down and takes himself in hand, a few strokes only before he comes all over the floor. Khan considers pointing out that he would have helped with that and decides against it. “This arouses you,” he says. “Why?”

“It’s not just this,” Jim says, catching his breath and his voice rough. “It’s all of it. Breaking that doctor, playing my part until I didn’t have to--it’s such a fucking rush. I never realized--I mean, okay, I got in my share of bar brawls, and all, but there’s just something about taking people apart. It’s addictive.” 

Khan slides down the wall to kneel in front of Jim. “It is an addiction you must control, Jim,” he says quietly. “You cannot allow it to control you, or to drive you. If you go down that path, we _will_ fail in our goal.” 

“I know,” Jim says. “I know, Khan. But that’s what I have you for, isn’t it? Superior being, able to control his baser instincts?” He grins and Khan laughs.

“If I were able to control those, Jim, we would not be in this position right now,” Khan points out.

“Are you saying I’m irresistible?” Jim asks brightly.

“And feed your ego that much?” Khan snorts. “Hardly.”

“You know you’re addicted to me,” Jim says, avoiding words they don’t mention. “You don’t know what you’d do without me.”

“Nor you me,” Khan says, not denying the point. 

“Never said I wasn’t,” Jim says. “Together or not at all.” 

“They will say, one day, we had an unhealthy relationship,” Khan comments. “Twisted and perverse.”

“Fuck yeah,” Jim says, laughing. “Khan, we just spent six hours torturing a man and I’m going to kill him with one of your knives when I feel like it. How many have we killed? How many did _you_ kill before I caught up with you? How many did you kill when you were conquering the globe? Do you even know the number?”

“No,” Khan admits. “There were...many, on my path to rule.”

“Would you rule again, given the chance?” Jim asks. 

“It would depend on the circumstances,” Khan says. “Would you consider it?”

“Not without you,” Jim says. “But that seems to be my path these days. Nothing without you.”

Khan reaches out, taking Jim’s clean hand. “Perhaps we should think of a larger goal,” he says. “One bigger than watching Starfleet burn.” 

“Do you want to take down the Federation?” Jim asks, eyes bright. 

“I am...” Khan considers his words. “Not sure that is possible. But if we destroy Starfleet, we at least create a vacuum on Earth for power. Should we attempt to fill that vacuum, or watch it burn and go on our way?”

“You’re assuming we don’t die before we take them down,” Jim says, humor falling away.

“I am.” 

Jim blows out a breath. “Let’s think about it. I don’t know if I want to be...responsible...for anyone but myself and you ever again. On the other hand, you were _built_ for that, to take power and hold it during uncivilized times.”

“I was,” Khan says. “But that was three hundred years ago, and I had...friends. Family. Now I have you.”

“Tell me about them,” Jim says. “Your family. You know about my crew, you watched some of them die. Tell me about yours.” 

Khan shifts to sit cross-legged. “What do you want to know?”

“Their names,” Jim says. “Who they were to you. What they accomplished.” 

Khan licks his lips, and Jim shifts to sit facing him. “All seventy-two?”

“Yes.” JIm doesn’t let go of his hand. 

“Some of us, not all, but some of us...we divided the world, decided who should go where. Katsuro took Japan, part of China,” Khan says, figuring it is as good a starting point as any. “He...no one could best him in hand to hand combat, not even me, but unless in battle he did not fight to kill. Disable, yes, sometimes cripplingly so, but he rarely killed.”

“Why?” Jim asks.

“He felt if he defeated an opponent, that opponent owed him his life,” Khan says. “And he decided it was better to have defeated opponents swear loyalty to him than die. It...usually worked out well for him, but the Japanese have a very strong sense of honor.” 

Jim nods. “Who took Europe?”

“Bishop,” Khan says. “Western Europe, at any rate. Bishop was both one of the most generous and most cruel men I ever knew. Generous with his people, merciless with betrayal. He and Katsuro were lovers, when they could be.”

“Eastern Europe?” Jim asks.

“Ekaterina,” Khan says. “Beautiful and deadly. She killed without a second thought. She never wanted to rule, but she accepted the responsibility when it fell to her. I could, rarely, best her in knife fighting or hand to hand.” 

“Were you lovers?” Jim asks.

“No,” Khan says. “I chose not to take lovers from my family.”

“Lonely life,” Jim says. “Because I doubt you took lovers from your subjects, either. Do you have pictures of them?”

“No,” Khan says. “No, they took most of our personal possessions before we left, and I was not given any back by Marcus.” 

“Do you draw?” Jim asks. “Could you draw them from memory?”

“Some images still exist in records,” Khan says. “Some I possibly could draw, given time and materials.” 

“We’ll get you some,” Jim says. “You should have images of your people. Reminders of what Marcus destroyed. Who were your closest friends, among them?”

“Katsuro, Bishop, Anandi,” Khan says without hesitating. “Anandi fought for South America, and held most of it for a time. Ekaterina, if I didn’t think she would have killed me because it amused her. Joachim, my right hand, the closest thing to a son I had.” 

“If you could have any of them back,” Jim says. “Who?”

“Those five,” Khan says. “Perhaps Geoffrey, who worked for Bishop. But those five were...my closest companions, although we lived and fought and ruled different parts of the globe.”

“Let’s find pictures of them,” Jim says, getting to his feet and drawing Khan with him. “I want to see what they looked like. You can tell me about the rest while we do.”

“And our guests?” Khan asks.

“They can wait,” Jim says. “This is important.” 

“We should, perhaps, feed them,” Khan says.

“Brig cells dispense meals three times a day, it’s crap food but it’ll keep them alive,” Jim says. “There’s a water dispenser in the back of the cell, and a small toilet. They’ll be fine without us.”

“Unless they find a way to escape,” Khan says because it is a possibility, no matter how remote.

“We’ve locked access to the ship’s computers,” Jim says. “If they escape, we’ll find them and we’ll kill them. Slowly.” 

“Slowly is important to you, I notice,” Khan says, following Jim down the hall back toward their quarters. 

“If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing thoroughly,” Jim says, flashing him teeth that aren’t quite a smile. “Which is why you’re going to fuck me later, and take your time with it.”

“My stamina far exceeds yours,” Khan points out. 

“So fuck me until I pass out, I’m good with that,” Jim says, shrugging. “I want to wake up feeling used, feeling your fingerprints in my bones and your teeth all over my skin. Bruise me, bleed me, anything you want.” 

“Why are you being so generous?” Khan asks, slightly concerned.

“Because sometimes I forget that you lost everything, too,” Jim says. “And because it’s fucking hot.” 

“Masochist,” Khan murmurs.

“No,” Jim says, turning to look at him. “I’m yours. I’d rather give pain than receive it but when you’re the one dealing it out--shit, it’s amazing. There is nothing you could do to me I wouldn’t want.” 

“I could kill you,” Khan says.

“No, you couldn’t,” Jim says. “You need me until we’re done with whatever we’re doing, or until we go down in flames, whichever happens first.” 

“Preferably the first,” Khan says although sometimes he wonders. 

“Which means we need to figure out what we’re doing,” Jim says. “But for now I need food, you probably do too, and then there are sixty-six people left for you to tell me about.” 

“As you wish,” Khan says, and Jim laughs. 

“There’s an old Earth book, twentieth century literature, _The Princess Bride_ ,” Jim says. “Have you heard of it?”

“In passing, but I have not read it,” Khan says. “Why?”

“One of the characters says that all the time. It means ‘I love you’.” Jim looks at Khan. “I don’t know if we’re capable of love.” 

“Love and hate, two sides of the coin,” Khan says. “If we hate, we must be able to love, or have loved.” 

“Enough with the philosophy,” Jim says, but Khan blocks the punch and twists his hand until Jim gasps and starts falling to his knees. “Enough,” he says, voice strained, and Khan lets him go, steadying him on his feet. “Maybe we could love at one point. I don’t know if we can now. I know I need you, and I know you need me, and I know we’re bound together tighter than anything I can think of, and that’s got to be enough.” 

“It is,” Khan says, clasping Jim’s shoulder. “It is enough.” 

Jim leans up and kisses him. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I freely admit I invented the members of Khan's family referenced here; I haven't seen Wrath of Khan in ages and there were reasons I wanted to use the people I did. If I'm breaking canon I beg your pardon and hope that in a slightly alternate universe, maybe things were different.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you could go back, what would you do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I have to warn for off-screen torture and on-screen murder, but again, it's not that surprising given the story so far.

Three days, four more sessions, and Jim finally slams a knife into the doctor’s throat, severing the jugular and the spinal cord in one savage blow. The doctor doesn’t even have time to cry out before he dies. “So, like that,” he says, looking at Khan, ignoring the weeping coming from the other doctor and the silence from the technician.

“Precisely,” Khan says, pleased with the strike. No hesitation on Jim’s part, and he struck with enough force that a second blow was unnecessary. “What do you wish to do with the body?”

Jim shrugs and heaves the lifeless doctor up over his shoulder. “Space him out an airlock.” 

They do just that, leaving their other captives to contemplate, and find themselves on the bridge, Jim roaming restlessly and Khan in the first officer’s chair. “Now what?” Jim asks. “What do we do next? Go after the other three? Tear Starfleet apart from the inside out?”

“You say that as though they are mutually exclusive options,” Khan says. “I think we can accomplish both.” 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Jim says, moving to straddle Khan’s lap the way he often does, hands on his shoulders. 

“We send one back,” Khan says. “One shuttle, preprogrammed to fly to a starbase or even Starfleet headquarters. We provide the recordings of what was done to me, what Marcus did to your crew, and we warn them that we are coming.” 

“Whoever we send back will tell them about the Vengeance,” Jim says, considering it. “They’ll be looking for us.”

“No ship in the fleet is faster,” Khan says. “Or has more powerful weapons. Besides, I think if we include a message that we are willing to have mercy on those who come to our cause, we may have more luck than we expect. How many officers in Starfleet, how many enlisted personnel, will turn on the organization where an Admiral fired on a defenseless ship and killed all its people? How many will be revolted at the scientific “experiments” performed on a helpless man?”

“You’re not helpless,” Jim says, hands tightening on Khan's shoulders. 

“No, I am not,” Khan agrees. “But back then, I had few options and no good recourse.” 

“I still...” Jim scowls. “I hate that you went through that.”

“Had I not, I might not be here now,” Khan says. “You certainly would not be.”

“Do you ever wish it was different?” Jim asks. “That we weren’t doing this?”

“What else would we be doing?” Khan asks. “Things played out as they did, and I do not waste time with regrets or what ifs. We cannot change the past.” 

“I wonder if we could,” Jim muses. “If time travel’s actually possible.” 

“Theoretically, anything is,” Khan says. “But when would you go back in time? So many decision points.” 

“To when you were revived,” Jim says without hesitating. “I’d find a way to be there and keep Marcus from getting his hands on you.” 

“You were a different person then,” Khan says quietly. “You would have hated me.”

“No.” Jim shakes his head. “You did what you did because your crew was threatened. Maybe you’d have tried to take over my ship, and then we’d have had problems, but if I kept your crew safe, if I kept you from being treated as a lab animal, your moral code would have demanded you repay me somehow.”

“We were built to hold power,” Khan says. “I do not see you appreciating that.” 

“Something in you recognized something in me,” Jim says. “Has, ever from the moment you found me on Qo’nos. I won’t--I _can’t_ \--believe that had we met under other circumstances, that wouldn’t have happened. I’d have found a way to help you.”

“Do you want to find a way to travel back in time?” Khan asks. “Between the two of us, if anyone could break that mystery, it would be us.” 

Jim clearly considers it for a moment before he shakes his head. “I’m not that person, that _captain_ , anymore. Going back would be...no, I don’t think so.” 

Khan’s mildly relieved although he does not say so. “Had we met then, had things progressed, I would have asked you to join my family,” he says. “Share power, perhaps.”

“You honestly think you’d share power with an inferior being?” Jim snorts. 

“I did say ‘perhaps’,” Khan points out. Although sometimes he wonders how inferior Jim actually is. He certainly does not possess the enhanced physical skills and senses of Khan or his people, but his mind is quick and agile, capable of coming up with ideas that still have the ability to surprise Khan once in a while.

Jim laughs. “I’d be your consort and chief fighter, I think.” 

“So long as you were not fighting one of my people,” Khan says. “That would have been acceptable.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t take on Katsuro or Ekaterina,” Jim says. “I’m crazy, not stupid.”

Khan leans forward and bites Jim’s throat, lightly, not breaking the skin. “I believe you are perfectly sane,” he says, tracing the mark he made with the tip of his tongue. “You know full well what you are doing is not on the path of the angels, and you do it anyway.”

Jim slides his hands into Khan’s hair and pulls his head up, kissing him hard enough their teeth clash. “I don’t care about Hell,” Jim says. “You’ll be there with me when I get there.” 

“You would rather be in Hell with me than in Heaven with your crew?” Khan asks.

“Milton,” Jim says. “Between you and me, we’ll own the place.”

“Ah,” Khan says. “I see.” 

“Or there may just be nothing past this life,” Jim says. “In which case it doesn’t matter anyway. He studies Khan for a moment. “Do you believe in life after death?”

“Do I believe in the immortal soul?” Khan asks. “I do not know. I do know I would walk through Hell and back again to find you, were I to end up in such a place.” 

“Careful,” Jim says. “Next you’ll be saying you love me.”

“I know what kind of trouble you can get yourself into if I am not there to act as a wiser, more controlled guide,” Khan says.

“So it’s all about looking out for me,” Jim says, grinning. “I can live with that.”

Khan smiles slightly. “I suppose someone has to.”

“I suppose you’re making excuses,” Jim says, hands still tangled in Khan’s hair. “I’d fight the Devil himself to get you back.” 

“What do you suppose would have happened had your team survived Qo’nos? Your ship survived Marcus?” Khan asks. 

Jim’s face darkens. “I don’t know,” he says. “We’d be in very different places. It’d depend on what you wanted, what you did to get your crew back.”

“I would not have hesitated to betray you,” Khan says because it’s true, because Jim has earned the truth from him.

“In which case...I don’t know,” Jim says. “I like to think you wouldn’t have, that you’d have taken your crew and the Vengeance and gone on your way.” 

“I wanted revenge on all of Starfleet,” Khan says. “Not just Section 31, not just Marcus. In my mind everyone was culpable. I might have, perhaps, kidnapped you and taken you with me and my crew.” 

“ _Then_ we might have had problems,” Jim says. “Would you still have tried to seduce me?”

“Perhaps,” Khan says. “I still might have tried to manipulate you, and I would have used sex if I thought you susceptible to it.”

“Sometimes I think I hate you,” Jim says. “You killed Admiral Pike, among others, and he...” Jim presses his lips together. “He was a friend, a father figure in a way. He was supposed to be captaining the Enterprise, not me. I was supposed to be his first officer.” 

“Hate me or not, you still need me,” Khan says, hands on Jim’s hips. 

“I know,” Jim says. “And sometimes, I see why you did what you did. You don’t have a conscience, do you?”

“No,” Khan says, not bothering to dissemble or lie about it. “Needs must, and I do not spend time regretting my actions.”

“I used to,” Jim says. “When I did things that needed regretting.” 

“What did you do that you regret?” Khan asks.

Jim looks away. “A lot of shit from when I was a teenager, before I went to Starfleet,” he says. “Some of my decisions in command. And to be honest, sometimes I regret that I didn’t just kill you the way Marcus told me to. It’d have ended so badly but I might have my crew still.”

“You would have killed mine,” Khan says. 

“I didn’t know,” Jim says. “it was _wrong_ , morally and ethically, and I should have listened to Scotty about the torpedoes. If I hadn’t signed for them...where would we be now?” 

“Assuming your team survived the Klingons, I would have killed you and continued on with my mission to get my crew back,” Khan says without apology. “Had you had the torpedoes, I would have surrendered to get on board and convince you of the truth.” 

“You, surrender?” Jim scoffs. “Never.”

“It would have put me where I wanted to be,” Khan says. “On board the Enterprise. From there, I would have been able to rescue my crew.”

“You put a lot of stock in your abilities and not much in my crew’s,” Jim says. 

“I am the superior human,” Khan says. “The worst you could have done was shot me. I would have recovered. No one on your ship would have had the courage to get close with a knife.” 

“I might have,” Jim says. 

“Did you own a knife?” Khan asks.

Jim laughs. “No.” 

He kisses Khan again, gentle for them, his hands fisting in Khan’s hair. “When do we send one of them back?”

“After they break,” Khan says simply.

“God, that sounds good.” Jim grinds down against him, and Khan cannot help but respond, hands tightening on Jim’s hips. “I want your hands,” Jim says, kissing Khan’s jaw, biting his throat. “I want your hands all over me.” 

“Masochist,” Khan murmurs, knowing he’ll leave bruises and knowing Jim loves them. 

“No,” Jim says. “Yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't do songfic, but the theme song for this story appears to be "Night of the Hunter" by 30 Seconds to Mars. If you would like a copy, leave me a comment or email me at blueraccoon at gmail dot com.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you want?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in posting this - real life got in the way. I still don't know how much more there will be but I am continuing to work on it, so hopefully you'll have patience with me.

Instead of sending back a live hostage, they send back two dead bodies. Khan thinks it better not to let news of the Vengeance leak beyond those who already know about its existence, and neither of them really wants to let the doctor and the technician live. Jim kills the technician with Khan’s knife, licking blood off the blade after the body slumps to the floor. Khan dispatches the doctor with a phaser blast between the eyes. 

“Afraid to get up close?” Jim taunts him, blood on his hands and a smear on his cheek, the knife held loosely in his right hand. 

“A clean death,” Khan says. 

“She didn’t earn one,” Jim says, looking at her body for a moment. 

“That does not mean she should not get one,” Khan says, taking a step toward Jim. “You are remarkably messy with blood.”

“Are you complaining?” Jim asks. 

“Commenting,” Khan says.

“I could mess you up,” Jim says, taking another step toward Khan. “Cover you in blood and come, leave teeth marks in your skin, carve my name in your back.” 

“None of it will last,” Khan says. 

“I don’t care,” Jim says. “You love the way I look with your marks. I’d like to see what you look like with mine, even if it’s only for a little while.” He pauses, clearly considering something. “If--is there any way you can give me your abilities? A blood transfusion or something?” 

“It is...possible,” Khan says after a pause. “There is no guarantee it will work, and it might injure you. Were I to give you my blood...but I do not know if it will work or to what extent. Is that really what you want?”

“I don’t know, “ Jim says. “Sometimes I think it’d come in handy, and other times I think I don’t want to be burdened with your abilities. Although it’d be nice to win a fight you don’t let me win.” 

“Jim. even if I were to give you enhanced speed and strength, odds are you would not beat me in combat,” Khan says matter of factly. “I have...decades more practice than you.”

“But it’d at least be a fair fight, or fairer,” Jim says. “I don’t know. Let me think about it, and while I do, you see if it’s possible.” He considers for a moment. “Would I ever best Katsuro or Ekaterina?”

“No,” Khan says. “No, even I could not accomplish that. Bishop perhaps. and Geoffrey definitely, but those two...no one could win against them.” 

“And you were the best of the best,” Jim says. “Yeah?” 

Khan nods, seeing no point in hiding it. “I was.” 

“Is there...” Jim hesitates. “Is there _any_ chance some of them escaped the torpedoes?”

“The likelihood of that is about as much as some of your crew surviving,” Khan says, not sugar-coating his words. “Even if, somehow. you had gotten the cryotubes out of the torpedoes, they would have blown up with the Enterprise.”

“And you had all of them in the torpedoes,” Jim says. “No exceptions.”

“Save myself,” Khan says. 

“Well, yeah, I mean that’s obvious,” Jim says. He sighs. “I wish...but if wishes were shuttles, everyone would fly.”

“And the skies would be rather crowded,” Khan says. 

“Why do you have to be practical when I’m being philosophical for once?” Jim asks with a sigh. 

“Because if we were in accord you would think something wrong,” Khan says.

Jim snickers. “We agree on the important things.” 

“Perhaps,” Khan says. “Perhaps it is just necessity.”

“No,” Jim says. “No, there’s more than just need between us.” 

He is right, but Khan doesn’t say so. “The shuttle’s range is not far enough to reach Earth from here,” he says. “We will have to take the Vengeance and then set the shuttle on its way once we are close enough.”

“Right,” Jim says. “What message are we sending with them?”

“That depends on our goal,” Khan says. “If we are to sow dissent within Starfleet, we send them back with an autoplay loop of the recordings, both of the Enterprise and of myself.”

“And watch what happens?” Jim asks. “Should we include anything about ourselves?”

“I am undecided,” Khan says. “I lean toward yes, but being vague about our identity and location. Simply saying we survived the Enterprise destruction and are looking for people we can ally with should be enough.”

“Eventually someone’s going to figure out who we are,” Jim says. “But until then, you’re right.” 

“I usually am,” Khan says, and Jim punches him in the ribs. “Would you truly want to give up the ability to wear my marks?” 

Jim sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I wonder sometimes, though...how long will you live? How long will you be around? I’ve just got a normal human lifespan.”

“That is assuming we live long enough to die of natural causes,” Khan says. “Do you really think that likely?”

“No,” Jim admits. “No, I don’t. But if it does--”

“We will deal with it then,” Khan says. “For now, we have a message to deliver to Starfleet.” 

Jim takes another step toward Khan, standing toe-to-toe with him. He raises his hand and wipes a smear of blood down Khan’s cheek. “Your hands aren’t clean any more than mine are,” he says.

“I never claimed they were,” Khan says, touching the drying blood on Jim’s face. 

“Had you not done what you did at Starfleet--I’m not talking about Section 31, but...” Jim shakes his head. “I wasn’t supposed to be the captain, did you know that? There was a mission, I saved Spock’s life and he submitted a report and anyway, it doesn’t matter, but Pike was supposed to be the captain, I was supposed to be the first officer. But you killed him, and Marcus gave me my ship back, and...” 

“What ifs and what might have beens are not usually a good way to spend one’s energy,” Khan says.

“Yeah, I know,” Jim says. “But it’s human nature. At least, for us inferior beings.” He leans up and kisses Khan briefly. “Had Pike been captain...I can’t imagine he’d have just fired those torpedoes at you, but I don’t know how it would have played out.”

“In all likelihood the same,” Khan says. “Marcus wanted his war, and nothing was going to stop him.”

“Do you think we still need to worry about the Klingons?” Jim asks. “If we take Starfleet down, do you think the Klingons will attack?”

“Possible,” Khan says. “They would be likely to see a power vacuum and try and fill it.” 

“I don’t want that to happen, much as I want to see Starfleet burn,” Jim says. 

“Then we will have to find a way to discourage the Klingons from invading,” Khan says. “But taking down Starfleet does not means we are destroying the Federation.”

“No, but without Starfleet what kind of defenses or military offense does the Federation have?” Jim counters. “Every man for himself doesn’t lend itself to a united front against an invading army.”

“What do you want our goal to be, Jim?” Khan asks. “Do we bring down Starfleet, do we take it over, do we attempt to destroy the Federation...what do you want?”

Jim licks his lips, rubbing at dried blood with the back of his hand. “I want...” He stops, sighs. “I want to watch it all burn,” he says. “Fuck it. Fuck the Klingons, fuck it all, I want to watch it burn.” 

“Then we will,” Khan says. 

“If we do it right they’ll beg us to take over,” Jim says, considering. “Do we want that?”

“Meet the new boss, same as the old boss?” Khan forgets exactly what he is quoting but Jim laughs. “Let us deal with that when we get closer to it happening.” 

“You, waiting to decide on something?” Jim snorts. “That’s unusual.”

“There are too many variables for me to see a clear path forward at this point,” Khan says. “We should send the bodies back to Earth with the message, see what happens, and from there we can make plans.” 

“All right,” Jim says. “How long do you think it’ll take us to get to a point where we can drop the shuttle off?”

“A few hours, no more,” Khan says. 

“It can wait,” Jim says. “For now, at any rate.”

“You have other plans?” Khan asks, raising an eyebrow.

Jim traces a line down Khan’s cheek with the tip of his knife. “I do,” he says. “You look too clean. I want to mess you up.”

Khan smiles. “As you wish, _Captain_.” 

Jim punches him in the jaw. “I hate it when you call me that.”

“I know,” Khan says, tasting blood and noticing Jim split his lip. “Why do you think I do it?”

“Because you’re a masochist who likes getting beaten up by me,” Jim says, shifting into a defensive crouch, knife held in his right hand. 

“Hardly,” Khan says, mirroring Jim’s pose without the knife. “You will never best me in a fair fight, and you know it.”

“One day I’ll take you down,” Jim says, and then there is no more time for speech, just punches and kicks and slashes with the knife that leave Khan bleeding and his shirt in tatters. Khan wrestles the knife away from Jim, pins him on the floor with the blade at his throat, and Jim all but whimpers when Khan traces the line of his jugular with the point. 

“Do it,” Jim whispers, head tipped back. “Fuck, Khan, do it, cut me, make me bleed.” 

Khan slices Jim’s shirt off him, leaves nicks and cuts all over his chest, licking blood off his skin and feeling Jim shiver. A thought occurs to him, and he smiles at it--primitive, yes, and crude, but what does that matter? 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Jim says, watching him.

In answer, Khan makes a series of small cuts into Jim’s skin, just over his collarbone. Hindi, if anyone were to look closely enough, a language he has not spoken in centuries. “That,” he says, licking the blood away. 

“What did you write on me?” Jim asks. “Wait. Oh, fuck, you did not just write your fucking name on my skin, did you?”

“And if I did?” Khan asks, setting the knife aside.

Jim groans. “You so need to fuck me right now.” 

“Which of us is the masochist?” Khan says, but he smiles. 

“Never claimed I wasn’t,” Jim says. “You’re just teaching me how to be a sadist in addition.” 

“And what am I learning from you?” Khan asks, stripping Jim out of the rest of his clothes.

“What life’s like for us inferior beings,” Jim says. “That we’re not all useless.” 

“No, I would say you have many uses,” Khan says, and Jim laughs and reaches out, tangling his hands in Khan’s hair and pulling hard, bringing their mouths together.

“Fuck me,” Jim says against Khan’s lips, biting the lower one. “As hard as you can. Hard enough you’ll have to put me back together later.”

“I always will,” Khan says, surprising himself by how much he means it. 

Jim looks at him with steady blue eyes. “And I you,” he says.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where do we go from here?

They have no right to expect their plan to work, and yet it does. When the shuttle with its two dead members arrives back on Earth, they include a small virus in its memory banks, uploading the footage of the destruction of the Enterprise everywhere they can. Within minutes, it’s spread globally, and within hours, Khan and Jim listen to news anchors talking about riots and protests. “This worked better than we could have anticipated,” Jim says, listening to the comms. “The question is, where do we go from here?”

“We must decide on our goal,” Khan says. “Is it simple destruction?”

Jim sighs and rubs his hands over his face. “I don’t want to be in charge,” he says. “I don’t want to be responsible for anyone but myself and sometimes you.” 

“Then we continue to spread dissent,” Khan says. “We leak the recordings of what was done to me, tell the truth about what Section 31 was. We say we are looking for the three people in particular who experimented on me, and we do not know who we can trust any longer. Then we wait.” 

“Wait for what?” Jim asks.

“Starfleet to tear itself apart from the inside out,” Khan says. “It has already begun.” 

“They’re going to say Marcus was rogue,” Jim says. “That he acted alone, Starfleet isn’t responsible.”

“Will they be believed?” Khan asks. “Marcus was the leader of Starfleet. How is it possible he could have done what he did without awareness and approval?”

Jim licks his lips. “I don’t know,” he says. “I guess we’ll see. How long do you think it’ll take?”

“For Starfleet to turn on itself? Weeks, at most,” Khan says. “They will come hunting for us.”

“Then we’ll fight them,” Jim says. “And we’ll win.” 

“To what end?” Khan asks. “What do we do once we have destroyed Starfleet?” 

“Once again, you’re assuming we survive that,” Jim says. 

“Better to plan and not need it than not plan and find ourselves at loose ends,” Khan says. 

Jim blows out a breath. “We take it over,” he says. “We have to. We destroy the existing power structure, we rebuild it in a way we want. I don’t want to be responsible, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be.”

“There are other options,” Khan says. “We could leave it to burn, find ourselves a place to live.”

“Would we really be content with that?” Jim asks. “You were built to rule, I was...well, it doesn’t matter what I was, the point is that now we’re...us, and could we really be content living quiet lives on some planet?”

“I did not say it was a good option,” Khan says. He does agree with Jim; after what they have been through, what they have done, living on some planet somewhere and pretending to be normal would grow tiresome and stifling very quickly. 

“We could become smugglers,” Jim says. “Or some kind of independent ship for hire.”

“We could,” Khan agrees. 

“But we’re going to end up taking over Starfleet and if we’re either insanely lucky or unlucky, the Federation,” Jim says, voicing Khan’s thoughts. “We’re going to have to be very careful with how we introduce ourselves.” 

“So let us discuss that,” Khan says.

Jim rubs his hands over his face again. “As far as I know, the only people who knew John Harrison blew up Section 31 died,” he says. “Or we can discredit them.”

“It will be a difficult thing, to make a terrorist into a sympathetic character,” Khan observes. 

“Not if we release the recordings of what was done to you,” Jim says. “Then you’ll be a desperate man trying to escape by any means necessary.” 

“And you?” Khan asks, knowing the answer and wanting to know if Jim will admit it.

Jim presses his lips together and breathes slowly, in and out. “I’ll be the heroic captain who lost his crew in a Klingon attack on Qo’nos and then watched a madman destroy his ship. I may have slightly gone insane from the shock, but with no one to trust but you, I’m risking my life to bring down the corruption in Starfleet and expose it.”

“And I saved your life on Qo’nos,” Khan says. “The one person I could trust.” 

“I was sent to end you and ended up allying with you,” Jim says. “How fucked up is that?”

Khan smiles briefly. “No stranger than anything else that has occurred since our meeting,” he says. “For what it is worth, Jim--I am sorry I was not in time to save your crew on Qo’nos.” 

“I don’t think anything could have saved them,” Jim says after a pause, his voice rough. “You took down the entire patrol single-handedly. Maybe a few seconds here or there, but...we’d have ended up back on the Enterprise and Marcus would still have destroyed us. The difference is we’d be dead.” 

“Do you wish that were the case?” Khan asks.

Jim bites his lips. “You have to ask the fucking hard questions, don’t you?” he says, not looking at Khan. “Fuck, I don’t know. I was the captain. I should have gone down with my ship. Now I’m here, and for what? So we can tear Starfleet down and watch it burn and build it again, like a phoenix? So I can be someone for you to hurt when the rage gets too much? What am I doing, Khan? What are we doing here?”

Khan shakes his head. “The organization is corrupt,” he says. “If it were not, Marcus would never have risen to lead it.”

“And we, the pair of us, stone cold killers, are supposed to cleanse it?” Jim asks with a half laugh. “We’re butchers, Khan. Who’s going to listen to us?” 

“More than you think,” Khan says quietly. “Perhaps less than possible, but more than you think. We are introducing an element of fear into the population. When people are scared, they will listen to any voice that provides reason and stability.”

“And you think we’re going to be that voice,” Jim says skeptically.

“I do.” Khan leans back in his chair. “I think we are going to record a brief message, stating who we are and what we have survived, and encode instructions for a rendezvous point. We will see who shows up.”

“There may be some who show up trying to take us down,” Jim says, pacing the bridge, hands fisted at his sides.

“I would not expect otherwise,” Khan says. “Let them try. It will be...entertaining.” 

“You’re so damn confident,” Jim says, pausing to look at Khan. “So sure we can win. You can, but I’m just a regular inferior human, remember? A phaser blast would kill me.” 

“I will not let that happen,” Khan says calmly. “If you die, it will be because I am already dead.” 

“Together or not at all, right?” Jim huffs out a laugh. “Okay. You can be my bodyguard.” 

“Something akin to that,” Khan says. “What do the news channels have to say?” 

Jim crosses to the controls and flips on the comms, listening to the chatter and the noise for a few moments before he can make sense of it. “They’re still talking about riots in San Francisco, but everywhere else seems to be quiet,” he reports. “And...there’s something about delegations leaving Earth, but I’m not quite clear on who or why. Could be normal traffic, could be in response to what we sent.” 

“Mm.” Khan crosses over to Jim to listen as well, but the report ends without more detail. “We should look into that, I think.”

“Yes,” Jim says. “For now, we should record our message. What do you want us to say?” 

“It is what I want _you_ to say,” Khan says. “I am a cipher, a nonentity. You are a decorated captain. I am merely the person assisting you in your goal.”

“Even though we both know that’s bullshit,” Jim says. “You’re the brains of this operation. Superior brains and all that.”

“Perhaps this time I will be the power behind the throne,” Khan says, resting a hand on Jim’s shoulder, thumb pressing into a healing bruise. Jim makes a short, choked sound and his knees buckle for a moment before he shakes off Khan’s hand. 

“If you want me to sound like a fucking captain you can’t do that to me,” Jim says, licking dry lips and touching a hand to the bruise on his shoulder. “Otherwise I’ll just sound like your sex slave.”

“Well,” Khan says. “I need you to sound like a captain, not a _fucking_ captain. The latter would be for my amusement, the former is for our goal.”

“Do I amuse you?” Jim asks, looking up at him. 

Khan smiles. “Do you wish me to prepare a script for you?” 

“Nice way of not answering the question,” Jim says. “And no. I think I can do this right. It may take me a couple tries, but I think I know what I need to say.” 

Before Jim records the message, Khan finds him a clean, unripped shirt and heals a bruise on the side of his face. Jim scowls when Khan touches the mark on his throat, and Khan does not offer to heal it--truth be told, he is not sure it would heal at this point, given its state of scarring. Part of him wonders what their audience will make of the mark, while the rest of him wonders if anyone will even notice.

Jim sits in the captain’s chair, Khan out of sight to the side. His face is grim, but his eyes are steady and he does not look toward Khan while he speaks. “This is Captain James Kirk, formerly of the USS Enterprise. By now you all should have seen the footage of my ship as she was destroyed by an unmarked Federation ship. I survived because I was not on board the Enterprise at the time; I had been sent to the Klingon homeworld to retrieve an agent. That agent saved my life on Qo’nos, and witnessed the destruction of the Enterprise with me in our shuttle. Admiral Alexander Marcus, the man who ordered the destruction of the Enterprise, is dead. However, when an admiral can destroy a Federation starship, one must wonder about the corruption within Starfleet itself. I and the agent I met on Qo’nos have been hiding, in fear of retribution from Starfleet or other parties, but we can no longer keep silent about what we have seen and what we fear has come to an organization we both served. I ask you to fight the corruption within Starfleet with us. Join us in our goal to cleanse this once-proud organization, to bring it back to its former glory. This will not be an easy battle, but it is one worth fighting, and one for which I will lay down my life if necessary.” Jim pauses. “Kirk out.” He hits end, and immediately after slides out of the chair to lie flat on the floor.

“Well done,” Khan says quietly, walking over to him. “I almost believed you.” 

“Shut up and fuck me,” Jim says without moving from his prone spot on the floor. “Or suck me, or...I don’t fucking care, just make it hurt. Make me _feel_ something.”

“I think your problem is you feel too much,” Khan says, kneeling next to Jim and running a hand up his side. 

“And it fucking hurts,” Jim says, softly. “I want to feel anything else.” 

Khan flips him onto his back. “We will encode instructions for a rendezvous point later,” he says, unfastening Jim’s pants. 

“You can do that,” Jim says. “I’ve done my part.” 

“I would not disagree,” Khan says. He takes Jim into his mouth, not what Jim was expecting but he moans and his fingers tangle in Khan’s hair, pulling. Khan closes his eyes against the slight pain and works two fingers into Jim, until Jim writhes against his hand and pushes into his mouth. Jim curses when he comes and bites off a word that might have been Khan’s name; Khan licks him clean until Jim hisses and squirms away from him. 

“God,” Jim says, sprawled on the floor. “That...I needed that.” 

“You do seem to require regular sexual satiation,” Khan comments, his voice rougher than normal but it will pass. 

“And you don’t?” Jim snorts. “Here I thought you liked me because I could keep up with your enhanced stamina.” 

“You cannot,” Khan says, stating a fact. 

“No, but I’ll let you fuck me til I pass out and then some,” Jim says. “Good enough.”

Khan laughs. “Indeed.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you care about the Federation?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in posting; plot happened and it's taking a bit longer to get through. Hopefully you'll bear with me and decide this was worth it!

They encode instructions in Jim’s message for a meeting point in the Neutral Zone, closer to the Federation’s side than Klingon space. A small planetoid has breathable atmosphere and close enough to normal gravity, and Jim and Khan hide the Vengeance a distance away and take a shuttle to the planetoid. A risk, perhaps, but they do not want the Vengeance to fall into the wrong hands, and the wrong hands would be any but theirs.

They arrive two hours early, dressed in basic black with no Starfleet insignia, armed to the teeth and in Jim’s case only somewhat bruised. Khan folds himself down on the ground to sit and wait; Jim paces, raking his hands through his hair, muttering to himself about insanity and death traps and what the fuck do they think they’re doing. Khan considers using sex to calm him down and decides against it--he does not want to risk Jim being distracted or too relaxed when people show up. 

He knows people will come. How many and on which side he does not know. The variables are...problematic, but he knows nothing in life is certain, only too well. 

“How the fuck are you so calm?” Jim demands, turning to look at him. “Are you on sedatives or something? Would that even work on you?”

“Not unless used in large quantities,” Khan says. “I prefer not to expend needless energy worrying about things I cannot change.”

“Fuck,” Jim groans, pulling at his hair. “Why do you have to sound so much like--like--” He stops, breathes. “You two would have hated each other, you’re too much alike.” 

“This is not the first time you have made that observation,” Khan says. “Do you wish I were him?” 

“No,” Jim says. “No. He wouldn’t...he’d be horrified in a very Vulcan way by what we’ve done. I don’t think Vulcans go to the dark side.” 

Khan does not have extensive experience with Vulcans and declines to theorize on the matter. His internal clock tells him they have twenty minutes before the rendezvous time, and he unfolds from his spot, standing and moving through a few basic stretches. 

Fifteen minutes early, the first shuttle lands, followed by another, and another. Four more show up at once, and while he and Jim wait for the first people to be courageous enough to emerge, two more land. Then a group of six beams in, followed by a group of four.

Khan will not admit it, but the sheer number of people coming toward them surprises him. No one has reached for a weapon, although Jim’s hand rests on the hilt of his phaser, and the lack of Starfleet insignia is more telling than perhaps anything else. No one wears a uniform; many dress in basic black like Jim and Khan, others in civilian clothes. He does not see command yellow, science blue, or operations red on a single person. 

Hundreds of people arrive, forming a loose semicircle in front of Jim and Khan. No one wants to get too close, and Khan sees a few hands resting on weapons like Jim’s, but no one actually aims. Khan remains quiet, wondering if the crowd will appoint a person to speak for them, if they already have.

After a few quiet minutes, a man shorter than Jim steps forward. He wears black, no insignia, but Khan estimates him as at least a captain. “I’m--I _was_ \--Captain Daniel Rosen,” he says. “Turned in my commission three hours ago. I guess I can speak for those of us here.” 

“Captain,” Jim says, giving him the title anyway. “You know who I am.” He doesn’t introduce Khan. “What do you want?”

“We’re with you,” Rosen says, rubbing at his short beard. “What happened to your ship, your people--” He shakes his head. “That’s not the Starfleet I joined, and it’s not the Starfleet I want to serve. I’m out. We’re all out. You’ve got maybe half the ships in the quadrant here, or representatives from them, and we all quit a few hours ago. The other ships, we’re still trying to reach them. A couple are out of range and we can’t reach them through comms, some are trying to play it neutral and see which way the wind blows.”

“What about Starfleet leadership?” Jim asks. “Where do they stand?”

“Oh, they’re trying to say Marcus went rogue,” Rosen says. “That he had his own secret plans, no one knew, he was crazy. But Marcus was the admiral in charge of Starfleet, and for him to destroy one of his own ships--there’s no one there we can trust. I cannot in good conscience serve an organization that would do this to its own people.” He looks at Khan. “They’re trying to say you were one of Marcus’s people,” he says. “Worked for him, helped him with his goals, then turned on him.” 

“Do you believe them?” Khan asks.

“I don’t know,” Rosen says. “I don’t know who you are. If you did help Marcus, that’s between you and your devil. All I care about is whether you’re going to turn on us.” 

“We are here because that is not what we want,” Khan says. “I had nothing to do with the destruction of the Enterprise, nor would I.” He might be lying, but he doubts Rosen will call him on it. 

“This man saved my life on Qo’nos,” Jim says. “I trust him completely. If you’re with me, you’re with him.”

Rosen nods. “Figured it might be like that.” 

“So what now?” Jim asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do we set up our own rival Starfleet? Do we just go rogue? What do you want to do, Captain?”

“I believe in the Federation,” Rosen says after a pause. “But Starfleet needs a change of leadership.” 

“Do you want to be that change?” Jim asks. 

Rosen snorts. “I just want to captain my ship. I don’t have the tolerance for politics.” 

“Neither do we,” Jim says. “Well, I don’t. He might.” He nods at Khan.

“Does he have a name?” Rosen asks.

“You may call me John,” Khan says. 

“John, then,” Rosen says. “What do you want?”

“A change in leadership,” Khan says. “It would be...” He pauses, giving the appearance of choosing his words carefully. “It would be a disservice to the Federation to deprive it of so many of its best and brightest.” 

“Do you actually care about the Federation?” Rosen asks skeptically.

“I care about the power vacuum that would result were it to fall,” Khan says. That appears to satisfy Rosen, and he nods. 

“So what do we do, walk into Starfleet and tell them we’re taking over?” Jim asks, not quite fidgeting but not standing still either. “That there’s been a mass mutiny?” 

“I think we wait, first,” Khan says. “We wait to hear from the other ships in the quadrant, get as many as we can on our side or find out who will remain neutral. If anyone will go against us. Then...essentially, yes.”

“My comms officer can keep tabs,” Rosen says. “He’ll stay in touch.” He motions for a tall, thin redhead to come forward. “LIeutenant Garrity.”

“Sir,” Garrity says, nodding at Jim. “There are seven ships right now we don’t know about. Four are out of comm range, two are so far refusing to talk to anyone, and one is on its way back from Starbase Eleven.”

“That last one wouldn’t be the Wells, would it?” Jim asks.

“It would, sir,” Garrity says. 

“Yeah, I don’t think we need to worry about them,” Jim says.

“Yes, sir,” Garrity says. “I’ll let you know about the others.” 

“Save those seven, every ship in the quadrant is with us?” Khan asks.

“Yes, sir,” Garrity says. “What happened to the Enterprise--no captain should go through that. No admiral should behave like that. It’s treason, sir.”

“Technically, Lieutenant, what we are discussing now is treason,” Jim says.

“Maybe so, sir,” Garrity says. “But I’d rather throw my luck in with you than Starfleet as it stands.”

Khan has to admit he is surprised by the numbers. He expected they would win some, maybe even many, but the sheer amount of people on the planetoid, willing to join ranks with them, is both welcome and troubling. So much for watching it all burn, he thinks. Regardless of Jim’s wish, he will _have_ to shoulder some of the responsibility of rebuilding Starfleet.

“There are three people in particular we are looking for,” he says. He gives their names, and watches the murmurs run through the gathered crowd. After a few moments, Rosen shakes his head.

“They’re not here,” he says. “We can find them, but they’re not here. Scuttlebutt has it that they’re all black ops, so finding them might be difficult.”

“They are black ops,” Khan says. “They...experimented on me.” 

Rosen’s face hardens. “We’ll find them,” he says. 

“No questions asked?” Jim asks a little cautiously.

“None,” Rosen says. “I don’t have tolerance for people who experiment on other people.”

“Starfleet would not approve,” Khan murmurs.

“Starfleet can go to hell,” Rosen says frankly. 

“Yeah, I’m with you on that,” Jim says. “But someone’s got to fix it.” 

“And it might as well be you two?” Rosen shrugs. “Better you than me.”

“Careful, captain,” Jim says. “We’ll drag you along with us.”

Rosen smiles a little and shrugs one shoulder. “If it happens, so be it,” he says. “I don’t know a goddamned thing about leading more than my ship, but everyone’s got to learn somewhere.” 

“You cannot possibly do worse than Admiral Marcus,” Khan says. 

“You have a point,” Rosen says. “I’m taking my ship out for a spin, get her out of Earth orbit until things settle down. Garrity will stay in touch with you and you’ll let me know what you need from me and my crew.”

“Your crew, captain,” Khan says. “They are loyal to you?”

“I’d trust any of them with my life,” Rosen says without hesitation. Garrity flushes a little at the comment, but says nothing.

“Will you trust them with ours?” Khan asks.

“That’s why we’re here,” Rosen says. 

Khan nods. “Thank you, captain.” 

Rosen nods in acknowledgment. Murmurs run through the crowd and people begin leaving, some beaming back to ships, others boarding shuttles. More than a few come up to Jim and Khan, simply to express their intent and good faith, and Khan keeps his face impassive through all of it. Jim fidgets more and twitches and scowls when he thinks no one is looking; by the end, Khan thinks him remarkably like a cat with its fur on end and tail bristled. 

He locks his hand around Jim’s wrist and all but drags him back to the shuttle, piloting it easily back to the hidden Vengeance. Jim stalks onto the ship with a snarl, and Khan gives him two minutes before dragging him into one of the hangar bays and handing him a knife. “Fight me,” he says, and Jim growls and all but launches himself at Khan.

Both of them are bloody and bruised and their shirts in tatters by the time Khan pins Jim on his belly, knife at his throat. “Fuck,” Jim grinds out, pushing back against Khan. “We’re going to run out of clothes if we keep doing this.” 

“Next time we will strip first,” Khan says, tracing a line across Jim’s throat, enough to score the skin and raise a red line. 

“What, and fight naked?” Jim snorts. “I’d rather you cut up my shirts.”

“That can be arranged,” Khan says, and bites Jim, right where his neck meets his shoulder, just under the healing scar and above a blue-yellow bruise. 

Jim growls and drops his head to the side, exposing more of his throat. “Make it hurt,” he says, a little breathless and a lot turned on.

“I always will,” Khan murmurs, licking blood away from Jim’s skin.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are both likely mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay in posting! If you've been reading my other story you know that one's been getting updated more often; frankly, it's easier to write and I've had some RL issues that have made me wanting something less twisted in my head. But I haven't given up on this, I promise, and will continue to write it until it finds an ending.

Six weeks. 

It takes a month and a half to hear from all the other ships, make their plans, determine the best course of action. So much waiting, and Jim grows more and more impatient with every day that passes, until their fights and fucks become a daily occurrence and Khan has to heal him after each fight so that there will be _some_ unmarked skin on his body. 

“This is not the worst thing in the world, Jim,” he says after one such fight, when he has finished with the dermal regenerator and the bone regenerator and Jim looks easier, as relaxed as he ever gets these days. “Better we have solid plans in place than go in recklessly and get ourselves killed.”

“I know. I know. It’s just...what happened to letting it all burn? To tearing it down and going our own way?” Jim pulls his shirt on--they’ve ended up replicating new ones--and hops off the biobed.

“What else would we do?” Khan asks. 

“That’s what I don’t know,” Jim admits. “Sometimes, part of me feels I owe it to my crew, to build something out of the wreckage Marcus left us. The rest of the time, I don’t want it. I don’t want that responsibility.”

“There is nothing saying we have to be in charge of Starfleet as we rebuild it,” Khan says.

JIm snorts. “Yeah, right. You do, at any rate. I don’t know about me.”

“Why do you say that?” Khan asks.

“Because this is what you’re _made_ for,” Jim says. “Because you want to get in there and give orders and decide what we research and how, and decide how best we’ll engage the Klingons when we have to deal with them. Marcus was fucking crazy, but there are times I think he might have had a point. I don’t think the Klingons will be satisfied with a Neutral Zone forever, and at some point we might end up in a war.”

“Then we will be ready for one,” Khan says. “I have some thoughts on the matter. I also have some thoughts as to how we are to occupy ourselves. We can set up a new leadership at Starfleet, people we can tentatively trust, and put ourselves as...overseers in a way, able to step in and make decisions but somewhat removed from the day to day governing. Then we take the Vengeance and go out in search of trouble. Random Klingon patrols, even the Romulans, space pirates.”

“That’s pretty damn smart,” Jim says. “I like it. You don’t want rank, do you?”

“No, I do not,” Khan says. “Neither do you.”

“Fuck no,” Jim says. “So however we get out of this without taking rank, that’s what we do.”

With some negotiating, they get Rosen and another captain, Jacobs, to agree to take the lead in figuring out how best to replace Starfleet’s current leadership and take roles themselves if necessary. Khan looks up both their files, pleased with what he finds; Rosen is a solid, steady captain with a few commendations in his file and one censure, in which he’d gone back for a crew member against orders. Jacobs, on the other hand, reminds him a bit of Kirk--there’s definitely a bit of hotshot about him. Somehow he’s escaped censure, and a couple times he’s pulled off the near-impossible if the mission reports are to be believed. His people, from what Khan can discern, are incredibly loyal to him.

Good choices, both of them, and Khan thinks he can rely on them to do what they say they will do. He doesn’t _trust_ them, but he trusts no one but Kirk these days. He doubts Rosen or Jacobs trust _them_ , either; they’d be wise not to. But needs must, and the tentative alliance they have will have to serve.

Jim stalks onto the bridge while Khan reviews personnel files, and after a moment Khan puts them away to look at Jim. “Are we ready yet?” he asks restlessly. “This waiting is driving me up a wall.”

“I have noticed,” Khan says. “Almost. We should be ready to move in two days.”

“Fuck,” Jim groans, a drawn out breath. “Any word on the three we want?”

“They have, not surprisingly, gone underground,” Khan says. “We will find them, it just may take a little more time.”

“Time.” Jim growls. “Everything takes time.”

“Yes,” Khan says. “It does.”

Jim glares at him, then sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “I hate waiting. Even before this happened, I hated waiting.”

“You are the type to demand instant gratification takes too long,” Khan comments.

“Oh, fuck you,” Jim says.

“If you like,” Khan says, thinking it’ll be a temporary fix but worth trying anyway.

Jim blows out a breath. “I just want to be _doing_ something.”

“Such as killing people,” Khan comments.

“If necessary,” Jim says without denying it. 

“Who defines necessary?” Khan asks.

“We do,” Jim says. 

“Only us?” Khan asks.

“For now,” Jim says. “We’ll see if these new people can be trusted.” 

“We shall find out in two days,” Khan says.

Jim moves over to him and straddles his lap, biting at his lower lip and grinding down against him. “What was that you were saying about me fucking you?”

“I believe I said if you liked,” Khan says, hands on Jim’s hips.

“I really do,” Jim says, licking a line up Khan’s throat and biting, sinking his teeth in just shy of drawing blood. “We’ve got nothing else to do for two days, might as well amuse ourselves.”

“Is that what this is to you, Jim?” Khan asks. “An amusement?”

“You know it’s not,” Jim says, frowning at Khan. “You are...you’re oxygen to me.”

“And you are the flame,” Khan says. 

“You can live without fire,” Jim says.

“I can live without oxygen for a time,” Khan says. “But without heat, I would freeze and eventually die.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Jim says after a pause. “Oxygen feeds fire. Without oxygen, there’s no flame.”

Khan thinks perhaps this is a more accurate description than Jim even realizes; oxygen also controls flame, in a sense. If he gives Jim too much oxygen, too quickly, the fire will burn out of control and consume everything in its path. On the other hand, without enough air, fire withers and dies. It is a complicated balancing act, and Khan sometimes wonders how much effort he will end up expending to insure Jim’s madness does not consume him. 

Jim _is_ mad, Khan has no doubt of that. But at the moment his insanity works for them, and Khan will use him until the point that he becomes a liability, until he can no longer be guided and to an extent, controlled. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Jim says, tapping Khan’s forehead. “You’ve always got something going on in here. What is it?”

“We are both likely mad,” Khan says. “Have you considered this?”

“I know we’re both fucking crazy,” Jim says. “I don’t care.”

“Will you ever?” Khan asks.

Jim studies him. “If I ever lose my mind to the point that I’m a liability, you’ll put me down,” he says. “Do it and not hesitate.”

“I suppose I will,” Khan says. “Of course, by that point I may also be lost to madness.”

“So we’ll go out together, just like we planned,” Jim says. “I see no problems with this.”

“You would not,” Khan murmurs.

Jim kisses him, hard enough to scrape teeth against his lip and draw blood. “Stop talking, start fucking,” he says. “I’ve had enough of this philosophizing.”

Khan laughs and kisses him back, tasting blood--his own, maybe Jim’s, he’s not sure. “As you wish.”


End file.
